DROWNED CHARACTERS The pieces may be performed by either one actor or by Multiple (up to 7) separate actors. It was written for female performers but first performed as a reading with 2 male cast and worked well. SETTING If possible the play should be set close to water; either the sea or a swimming pool with minimal set or props. GENERAL NOTES The pieces are not written in any particular order but as ‘The Club’ references all the other pieces it may be wise to leave it until last in running order. *********************************************************************** FRANCE From the age of 7, and when my sister was 6, we used to go to France for the whole summer. Every year. We would pack whatever battered old car we had with tent pegs, towels and sleeping bags, get on a ferry.... throw up on the ferry, sleep through most of the 10 hour drive just begging dad for the occasional toilet stop and arrive like magic with exhausted grey parents and that tireless boundless kiddie energy that makes an adult sigh with despair. It wasn’t quite like that of course – I’ve missed out the stressful leaving process with dad sitting in the car for about 2 hours before we actually needed to leave and becoming increasingly irritated with our blatant disregard for his obsessive timekeeping. I’ve missed out all of the work that my parents put in arranging tickets and passports, emptying bins and paying bills that would be due while we were away. I’ve missed booking our beloved dog Rollei into kennels or later arranging for some hippy friend to look after him because he pined in the kennels and looked like a scrag of a dog when we returned and made us feel SO guilty for being away and having a good time. I’ve missed the cleaning, the bleach down the toilet, the plants being put on the table for my nanny to water and all the flurry of activity that makes going on holiday one of the singularly most unpleasant activities known to adults in modern times. At age 7 going on holiday meant packing bunny, panda, and some pants and walking out the door before my father had got really angry and started beeping the car horn repeatedly. One beep and you could still have a try for a last wee. Two beeps and you could be the first passenger to get to the car and earn a smile and a joke. Three beeps or more and you were fucked. I would like to add here that it was never me or my sister who were last into the car and my mother still, to this day, holds the ‘last one in’ record for 15 minutes late as she needed to clean the windows at 4 O’CLOCK IN THE SODDING MORNING....... I love my mum. We had friends in France. Friends that we only saw for those weeks every year. Friends that saw you at your very best; laughing and nut brown and without any homework or bedtimes or school bullies chasing you home or frightening your mates away. The friends were younger, older, French, English, German. We spoke gobble-de–gook to each other, made up an international sign language and learned how to say “shit”, “bollocks” and “bastard” in five different languages. We built bamboo camps, cycled over solid salt lakes, swam all day. We made cars out of sand decorated with shells for controls and sat in them until the tide came in and washed the pedals over our legs and the steering wheels past our ears. We were so happy. Our ribs ached with laughter, our faces cracked from smiling and we slept so deeply on our inflatable beds that we didn’t even notice if we had rolled onto the hard tent floor in the night. I feel like I grew up in France and I think my sister would say that too, even though we only ever spent 6 weeks of every year there. I grew up with my family and our friends on a camp site in the South of France amongst the olive trees with the sound of the Mediterranean Sea in my ears. It sounds romantic and it was. It was a place where you could make choices and create yourself in an idealised form. Where no one would see you in your school uniform, where no one could check out your stories. You could glow in the sunshine and wear shades all day, drink juice with ice and curly straws and wear Hawaiian prints with pride. I took risks; I was brave and independent. I read a million books including Ray Bradbury science fiction and romantic Mills and Boon. I formulated and bragged about plans for my future. I drank alcohol underage. I turned green by smoking Guilloise cigarettes behind the shower block. I learned to masturbate. I touched French and German and Belgian boys’ willies. In France I fell in love with my family all over again despite any difficulties there had been over the months before in England. I watched my parents love and respect each other while pickling themselves in cheap French red wine...... though never the cheapest which tasted like petrol and actually came out of a pump into whatever container you chose to bring along. Always stick to the bottled stuff. I loved everything about being in France. I looked forward to it all year. My parents graduated to having a caravan. We towed it down one year. I remember setting out dragging the thing behind us and the way my dad looked so worried as it swayed around the road behind us. Apparently you had to pack it in a certain way so that it would be more streamlined and travel in a straight line. We’d just chucked stuff in the van willy nilly and there was a quick pit stop to reposition everything before setting out on the road again. My dad didn’t beep his horn at all that year so he must, with hindsight have been very anxious about the whole towing thing. We left the caravan in France for next year so we didn’t have to tow it back. It was a one way trip. My sister and I still slept in a tent but by the time I was 13 my mum and dad bought another caravan for us. They didn’t repeat the towing experience. They bought our caravan in France. ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ The year I was nearly 15 my parents brought my godfathers with us to France. They were a flamboyant couple, one of whom immediately developed prickly heat and insisted on wearing a kaftan at all times while the other adapted a piece of cardboard as a nifty nose shield to protect his gigantic konk from the sun. I was suitably embarrassed although I still adored them and of course, I did the only thing that could have made the situation worse........ I fell in love. He was a 16 year old French boy called Thierry. We fumbled in my caravan, we fumbled in his caravan, we rolled about in sand dunes and kissed until my tongue lolled uselessly out of my mouth like a dog. But mostly I tried to avoid the hideousness of him meeting my godfathers. And that was how I drowned. It had been stormy for two days. The sea was still an angry frothy mess, the sand was damp from torrential rain that had kept everyone awake in their metal roofed caravans ..but it was warm. Tropical almost, and with a sky that looked like it had one big slate grey cloud stretching as far as you could see. Perfect body surfing weather but you had to be brave as there was almost always an impossibly strong undertow that would whip your feet from under you and carry you out or sideways or worse still, just down. Thierry and I were walking along the beach to look at the swell, walking hand in hand and repeating words in English and French back and forth to each other to see how sexy they seemed in each others languages. “Boat..... oyster...... I love you”. (Gathering in pace) I could feel his hand in mine, his fingers leading to his arms covered in his skin and that skin that covered his body and that body walking next to me and he was breathing and his chest moved and his heart was beating and I knew that my heart was beating in rhythm with his heart and every hair on my body was standing on end and I felt like I was going to implode and all that would be left would be a beautiful rainbow that would wrap itself around his body in tendrils of colour so delicate that they could hardly be seen but would still be there tattooed to his beautiful skin permanently holding him in their embrace and we’d be together forever walking in this moment . (pause) If it wasn’t for the fact that my FUCKING GOD FATHERS were walking directly towards us up the beach, in..... yes.... matching kaftans, and I could tell that they’d spotted us and would be delighted to be introduced to the love of my life. I ran; seemingly brave and carefree into the waves and started part swimming, part leaping over and diving under the massive waves. We could escape into the sea. My godfathers would never follow. I staggered to stand. I was dragged sideways and back. The salt stung. The sandy water whipped. I smiled and called to Thierry as the sea pummelled the breath from my lungs. He hadn’t followed. He was looking at me but I couldn’t read his expression as I was rapidly being swept out to sea. “Bateau, huitre, Je t’aime.” My mind was racing and adrenalin pumping. I was a good body surfer and a strong swimmer. I would pick the biggest wave, surf back into my depth and then on to arrive at Thierry’s feet, wet and sexy and look up lovingly into his adoring eyes. Simple. I chose my wave, swam full pelt front crawl along the top of it and streamlined as it started to break. It grabbed my shoulders first, then my torso, my thighs and we were travelling together sharp and straight as an arrow; weightless but with a deadly accuracy. I was being lifted like a ballerina. I was swinging on a trapeze. That wave wrapped me in raw silks on a howling bed of frothing lace and confetti and shot me on a toboggan run that held me face down, airless in powdery snow that filled my nose....... then my mouth..... then my throat...... then my lungs. I opened my eyes to will myself to lift my head but a second wave had plans for me and I surfed on as my body began to lose its shape and extend into the water. There was no struggle as my hands and feet swam first 2 foot, then 10 foot, then 20 foot away, my arms and legs thinning into a thread. My torso was dappled with glittering scales and my hair, now green with seaweed, floated above as I watched from below breathing the sand water in and out...... in and out....... in and out. The sun had come out at last. I could see the shafts of light rippling the jagged surface of the water above me and soon the waves would calm. The waves would calm and I would be there deep down....... where I had always belonged..... bathed in the Mediterranean Sea in the beautiful and romantic South of France. Dadros Performance area is set with a bed (a hospital bed) and a chair (plastic). Woman enters. Woman : Hi Dad. Hi. Takes time to look. Kisses him. Woman : How are you doing? (Pause) It’s me. (Smiles). Mum said you were looking better. More colour to your cheeks. And you do. Much better than last visit. You looked so tired and a bit pale if I might say so. Almost grey really. (Pause) But now there’s a bit of colour. A bit of a rosy glow to your cheeks.......and the rest of your face, and you don’t look so tired at all. Takes time to sit. Woman : I feel a bit tired. Takes time to straighten out the bed clothes. Woman : God. Its so hot in here dad. I guess it has to be as you’re all in your jimmy jarmers eh? (Laughs) Smells like a swimming pool. Let me just take some layers off. Takes time to remove some clothes. Woman : That’s better. So. How have you been? Have you been comfortable? I’m glad you’ve got that special mattress now. (Pause) Isn’t it amazing how it moves itself around? Such a strange noise all that air coming in and out and the motor buzzing at the end of the bed. I don’t suppose you notice it after a while. Maybe it’s a bit like living in a house near a motorway. Apparently after a while you just don’t hear it. After a while you stop noticing it and then if you go and stay away from home, somewhere quiet, you’re kept awake by the silence because the sound of the motorway lulls you to sleep every night. Funny. (Pause). Do you sleep well here? You look like you sleep well though it must be strange sharing a room with five other men. Bet you wish it was a mixed ward eh? Spice things up a bit. (Louder) Every one seems very nice here though. The staff and the other patients. (Pause then more quietly) They’re doing such a good job dad. You’ll be home in no time. You’ll see. You just need to rest and get better. Takes time to check her mobile phone Woman : Has mum been up today yet? I think she said she had. I think she’s coming up soon. Well I know she’ll be here soon. She texted me. Amazing eh dad? Mum sent a text. And she’s emailed me too. Never thought you’d see the day I expect? I don’t think she’s quite got to grips with how to write a text yet but she’s doing really well and I can nearly work them out. She started out sending single letters. One letter in each text and I waited for ages thinking they would spell something important out, a secret message, or a call for help or something but they made no sense. Turns out she kept starting a text and was taking so long to find each letter that the handset just went into sleep mode and so she thought the phone was broken and just pressed send as soon as she could rather than not send anything at all. It was better to send a single letter than not to send anything at all. And I guess she’s right in a way because it’s better to know that someone is thinking about you even if what they say doesn’t make sense or what they do doesn’t mean anything. (Pause) Dad. I’ve got to go soon but I’ll come back soon. Promise. Is there anything you would like? Anything I can bring for you? I guess I’ll speak to mum about that. She should be here soon. Maybe I’ll wait for her to come. What do you think? Or perhaps I should go and give you a break. You must get exhausted with all these visitors. Shouldn’t be so popular, should you? I think all the others must get jealous and wonder why you get double the number they do. Tough tootie to them, that’s what I say. (Laughs). Yup. I guess I will go. Mum’ll be here soon anyway. And I’m going to catch up with mum later this evening. I’m taking her to the cinema. To see a film. Not sure what yet. I’m sure she’ll tell you all about it tomorrow dad. Takes time to put on some clothes. Woman : Boiling in here. Takes time to straighten out the bed clothes. Woman : Right. I’m off dad. (Pause) Love you. Takes time to look. Woman leaves. There are a few beats of time. The performance area remains the same. Woman enters Woman : Hi Dad. Takes time to look. Kisses him. Woman : How you doing? (Short pause) It’s me. (Smiles). Mum said you were better. More colour to your cheeks. Better than last visit. You looked tired and a bit pale. Grey really. (Short pause) But now there’s colour. A rosy glow ....... and you don’t look tired at all. Takes time to sit. Woman : I feel tired. Takes time to straighten out the bed clothes. Woman : God. It’s hot here. Has to be, you in your jimmy jarmers eh? Smells like swimming. (Laughs) Let me take some layers off. Takes time to remove some clothes. Woman : That’s better. So. How’ve you been? Comfortable? Glad you’ve got that special mattress. (Short pause) Amazing how it moves around. Strange noise that air coming in and out and the motor buzzing. Don’t suppose you notice it after a while. Bit like living in a house near a motorway. After a while you just don’t hear it, you stop noticing it and if you go and stay away, somewhere quiet, you’re kept awake by silence because the motorway lulls you to sleep. Funny. (Short pause). Do you sleep well? Must be strange sharing a room. Bet you wish it was a mixed ward eh? Spice things up. (Louder) Every one seems nice here. The staff and patients. (Short pause, then more quietly) They’re doing a good job dad. You’ll be home. You just need to rest, get better. Takes time to check her mobile phone Woman : Has mum been today? She said she had. I think she’s coming. She’ll be here soon. She texted. Amazing eh? Mum sent a text. And she’s emailed. Never thought you’d see the day? Don’t think she’s quite got to grips with text yet but I can work them out. She sent single letters. One letter each text and I waited thinking they would spell something, a message, but they made no sense. She kept starting a text and was taking so long that the handset went into sleep mode, she thought it was broken and pressed send rather than not send anything at all. Better to send a single letter than not send anything. Guess she’s right. Better to know that someone is thinking about you even if what they say doesn’t make sense or what they do doesn’t mean anything. (Short pause) Dad. I’ve got to go but I’ll come back. Is there anything you’d like? Anything I can bring? I’ll speak to mum. She should be here. I’ll wait. What do you think? Perhaps I should go. Give you a break. You must get exhausted. Shouldn’t be so popular. All the others get jealous and wonder why you get double. Tough tootie. (Laughs). I guess I‘ll go. Mum’ll be here soon. I’ll catch mum later. I’m taking her to see a film. Not sure what. Sure she’ll tell you about it tomorrow. Takes time to put on some clothes. Woman : Boiling. Takes time to straighten out the bed clothes. Woman : I’m off. (Pause) Love you. Takes time to look. Woman leaves. There are a few beats of time. The performance area remains the same. Woman enters Woman : Hi. Takes short time to look. Kisses him. Woman : Doing? Me. (Smiles). Mum said colour, better, last. Tired and grey really. Takes short time to sit. Woman : I’m tired. Takes a short time to straighten out the bed clothes. Woman : Hot in your jimmy jarmers. Swim.(Laughs). Takes short time to remove some clothes. Woman : Better. You comfortable? Special mattress moves around. Strange noise buzzing. You don’t notice it. Motorway stop. Kept awake by silence. Sleep sharing. Mixed ward? Nice. Good job dad. Home. Rest. Better. Lies. Lies. Lies. Takes time to check her mobile phone Woman : Mum? Coming here? Text to grips emailed. Work them out. One letter. No sense. Sleep mode, broken. Thinking about you, doing you, doesn’t mean anything. Dad. I’ve got to go. SPEAK. Anything. THINK. I’ll wait BREAK. I should go. Exhausted. Others jealous. Tough. (Laughs). I‘ll go. Mum later film tomorrow. Takes short time to put on some clothes and straighten out the bed clothes. .Woman : Love you. Takes short time to look. Woman leaves. There are a few beats of time. The performance area remains the same. Woman enters Woman : Hi. Looks. Kisses him and sits Woman : I’m tired. Smooths bed clothes and removes clothes. Climbs onto the bed and curls around him. Woman : Comfortable? Stop now. We’re sunk. We’re drowned and it’s time to go under. There is no more. I can’t remember which story comes next. I can’t make it any simpler. Takes a pillow and places it over Dad’s face Woman : One letter at a time because it’s better to know that someone is thinking about you even if what they do doesn’t make sense or what they say doesn’t mean anything. 1. L. O, V. E. Y. O, U. D. A. D. D. Y. Puts on some clothes and straightens out the bed clothes. .Woman : All the others will be jealous. Tough tootie to them, that’s what I say. (Laughs) Looks at her phone. Woman : I’m off dad. Mum’ll be here soon. (Pause) Takes time to look. Woman leaves Laryngospasm Woman stands looking at the audience. When she is ready she speaks. Have you ever loved someone so much that you’ve drowned IN them? She takes time to notice each spectator individually. She is smiling. I am a man. I am tall and slim. I have three tattoos here, here and here (points to them slowly ). I have dark brown hair which is curly. I have blue eyes. Both my ears are pierced. I prefer not to be clean shaven but I do not want a long beard so I use a beard trimmer but sometimes I shave all the whiskers off. I look younger when I do this. Occasionally I use deodorant but not always. I like my own smell. I know I am good looking. I own three pairs of shoes, one pair of flip flops, two pairs of boots and one pair of slippers. I’m currently listening to progressive rock music. I mainly dress in black. I have a younger sister. She is medium sized and slim. She has tattoos here, here and here (points to places slowly) She has long blonde hair. From a bottle. No, its brown again. I lose track. It is straight hair. She has blue eyes. Both her ears are pierced. She shaves her legs and under her arms. She uses deodorant and perfume. Most of my male friends would like to have sex with her. She wears heels and flat shoes. She likes to read Vogue Magazine. She paints her eyes black. Makeup keeps her afloat. I have an older sister. She is tall and a little overweight. She doesn’t have tattoos. She has medium length dark curly hair in a side parting. She has blue eyes. I think her ears are pierced. She doesn’t shave anything. I don’t like to think about it. She uses ‘mum’ roll on deodorant. She doesn’t believe in sex before marriage. She wears boots. She likes to garden and bake. She mostly sees black. The black of a watery grave. I have a mother. She is tall and thinks she is fat. She hates my tattoos. She has short, straight brown hair. My ears are pierced by her shrieking. She wants me to shave everything, face...... head..... memory. She doesn’t like smells. She tells me of all the men who are not my father who would like to have sex with her. She kicks off her shoes. She likes to roll on the floor and strangle herself. She never buys black. She thinks it drowns her. Woman smiles again and views the audience. I am a man. Right now. Here. I am in love. With this person who’s standing beside me. She is a woman. She is tall and slim. I am taller than her. She has three tattoos here, here and here (points to areas slowly). They are smaller than mine. She has dark brown hair which is curly. I prefer it when she wears it down but sometimes she wears it up. She has green eyes. Both her ears are pierced several times. She waxes her legs and under her arms. I like that. She always uses deodorant. She smells good. She owns hundreds of pairs of shoes and sandals and boots. She likes me. She stops all my black. I drown in her and she drowns in me. FISTC More than a million people die from drowning each year. That’s more than two people a minute. About one every twenty seconds and 50 percent of them..... 50 percent of the people who die, are children. One third of the children who drown, drown in or around their home and a quarter of all drownings...... drownings of anybody.... children or adults... happen in less than a metre of water and within reach of an edge where they could climb out. Mostly that’s because it’s cold or with children because they don’t know what to do. People fall into freezing water and their body shuts down so quickly that they lose the power to reach for a side. Their blood rushes away from their arms and legs too fast so that they are automatically protecting their heart and lungs. Basically their blood’s still pumping and they can breathe but they don’t have the strength to hold on and hyperthermia sets in fast..... They become confused.... They prioritise the wrong things and drown in water so shallow that all they had to do was put their feet down and stand up to keep their face above the water or grab the side and pull themselves out. That is why in any swimming lesson the first thing we teach a child, even when they’re wearing inflatable swimming aids, is to jump in the water, turn to the side and hold on. And we repeat the exercise during every lesson until every time that child jumps into a pool the first thing they automatically do is turn to the edge and grab it. They don’t even know why they do it. Then we move on to teaching how to use both hands and a leg kick to climb out and up onto the edge. Harder than you think if you’re a kid and also especially if you’re an adult and carrying a few pounds. Try it next time you’re in a pool. Swim up to the edge, plant your hands firmly on the side about shoulder width apart and prepare yourself as if you’re about to do a push up. Then kick your legs in the water, one really big kick. I think a breast stroke leg kick is best and push into your arms until they are straight and your body is part way out of the water. Lock your elbows off, lift up a knee to place on the side of the pool, lean forward, lift the other knee out and you’re on the edge. Stand up. Well done. If they start lessons at around five years old, my pupils will be trained to grab the edge and climb out and also to right themselves and stand up from a horizontal floating position; interestingly enough something you also have to learn to do, within 12 weeks. Hopefully if they ever fall into water they will automatically right their body by placing their feet down, turn to the edge, grab on and climb out. There are quite a few other little exercises that you can cover in swimming lessons that might prevent drowning and that people simply don’t realise may be important. Blowing bubbles under water for example. Quite funny and a lot of fun, especially to watch. You can get a whole class under the surface with their goggles on watching each other talking or shouting or my personal favourite....... singing. In the dark, at night or if the water is filthy sometimes you can’t tell which way is up. You don’t automatically know. You can make the mistake of swimming the wrong way. If you blow a bubble, even in the dark it will glisten and ......bubbles always... go... up. It could save your life. As a swimming teacher you have a responsibility to teach people to swim, to enjoy water, to promote exercise as a lifetime pursuit that will keep them healthy so they live a long life .... But someone in my classes will fall in that dirty cold canal at night...... someone will be in a car when the driver is pissed and heads into a river...... someone will be left unsupervised in the family pool for two minutes while their mother answers the doorbell and I don’t want that blood on my hands. ************ The water is less than a metre deep and I’ve floated for a while but now I’ve planted both feet firmly on the bottom. I’ve righted myself from the horizontal. I’m holding on to the edge.... both hands. I love being in water. I am a swimming teacher. I am fully prepared mentally and physically. I know the drills. I’m ready. The water is warm. Blood temperature warm. I wasn’t expecting it to feel so hot and there’s a cold flannel on my forehead to cool me down. I suck ice. And here we go again. Another wave comes. I grip the side harder, I curl my toes. And I’m under. My heart is pumping so fast and my lungs are filling with air and I’m blowing bubbles but I can’t see which way is up. I can’t feel my arms and legs. I’ve lost the side and I wouldn’t have the strength to climb out. I wouldn’t have the strength. Panting. Only panting helps and a slow moaning that comes from the pit of my stomach and curls its way up through me until it reaches my cracking tongue, too large and furry in my mouth. I DON’T WANT TO DO THIS ANYMORE. I DON’T WANT TO DO THIS ANYMORE. Then there’s tears, salty tears falling into the fresh water that I’m in. And I’m panting and panting and gripping the edge so tightly. I’ve followed all the rules but I’m still drowning like all those children that I should have saved. All those little limp bodies churning in the lakes and the seas, the canals and rivers and the pools and the baths and I look down into the water around me and it’s red with blood. The blood of a child and my blood, mixed together and I have no choice. I join those drowned children, other peoples drowned children and it’s so dark, so red and I realise that they can’t see the way, so I sing them a bubble lullaby and the bubbles are glistening and they follow them to the surface and they smile at me as they go. They’ll remember what to do now. They’ll be safe so I give one big kick, a breaststroke kick and I’m nearly there. At the edge I realise that I’ve still managed to hold onto the side all along but now its time to move on and so I ignore my own rules and I let go and reach out at last and there in my arms is my own child, born into the water of the pool while my childless life drowned. My daughter taking her first swim from me to me and as I hold her she opens her watery eyes to stare at me and take her first breath. MODELS Both voices to be performed by one person. After speaking each part there should be distance travelled (suggest by walking or swimming) before a response is given. 1st Voice: At what point did you realise that the touching may not have been entirely appropriate to the situation? 2nd Voice: I think that I knew right from about the second photo shoot with that particular photographer. But it wasn’t touching to start with, it was the questions. 1st Voice: Questions? That’s interesting. Can you explain a little more? 2nd Voice: Yes. He would ask questions like: Have you got a boyfriend (or could be girlfiend – for male actor)? Have you been kissed? Are you still a virgin? They weren’t that dissimilar to questions that your grandma might ask. They were friendly. 1st Voice: Yes I see. They were the sort of questions that might be thought of as general chit-chat? 2nd Voice: But after a while they went a bit further than just chit-chat. Have you ever had an orgasm(or do you wank – for male actor)? Have you ever had sex? 1st Voice: And made you feel uncomfortable? 2nd Voice: Yes. 1st Voice: Because you were young? 2nd Voice: Yes. 1st Voice: And you didn’t know what to say to him? 2nd Voice: No. I was happy to talk. I was a confident child. Because I was being paid. 1st Voice: Being paid to model for him? 2nd Voice: Yes. 1st Voice: But you were being paid to model for him, not necessarily to talk to him. 2nd Voice: But I didn’t know the rules for modelling. Maybe he needed to know certain things to add to the artistic moment he was creating. He took beautiful photos. Flowing, grainy, sepia pictures that looked like they were underwater, like they were crying a sea of tears. 1st Voice: Then he touched you? 2nd Voice: Yes. 1st Voice: How? 2nd Voice: He would lay me down on a towel on the floor to oil my body for the photographs. 1st Voice: Undressed? 2nd Voice: Naked. 1st Voice: And you didn’t tell? 2nd Voice: Not then, no. I needed to put some distance between me and what had happened. 1st Voice: And after you had made that gap? 2nd Voice: Yes. Later on one model told and I heard about the arrest and then more of us met up and we all did. He went to prison. No one buys his photographs any more. 1st Voice: And they were beautiful photographs? 2nd Voice: Yes. But they were photographs of me and other girls (or children – for male actor) drowning. LATENT HYPOXIA I was already dead floating on the surface of the bed having returned from the deep. I had panted before the dive to expel as much carbon dioxide from my lungs as feasible and headed down. You see, it’s not the need to breathe that necessarily forces you to take a breath under water but the build up of carbon dioxide retained in your body that panics your respiratory system into the desire for oxygen. At least that’s how my shallow water diving coach explained it to me. You deliberately hyperventilate and the carbon dioxide comes out, you take a large breath and you dive. You can get quite deep. 10 metres or deeper and stay down for minutes. So, its not really ‘shallow’ water diving at all and I prefer the term ‘free diving’ as it shows that it’s free from breathing equipment......... apart from your own lungs of course. The only risk with free diving is that you lose the desire to take another breath at all, usually on the way back up to the surface and you suffocate yourself, black out and drown. My drowning stemmed directly from a previous drowning. I had dived as a reaction to it and it’s strange to think of the two events being so closely related and yet somehow so different. His was a vomit drowning. He’d taken some drugs. Heroin. Intravenously. He’d rolled onto his back in a semi conscious stupor. He’d puked into his own mouth and swallowed it into his lungs. No one had noticed until he had drowned. Maybe his body didn’t jerk around. Maybe he didn’t try to regain his composure and will himself to roll onto his side. Maybe he didn’t notice the taste of the vomit and the acrid stomach acid smell that burns the inside of your nostrils. Maybe he didn’t fight. When they told me he’d drowned I immediately prepared to dive. I didn’t even have to try to pant the carbon dioxide out of my body. My diaphragm knew what to do and it was effortless. I could feel the weightlessness and dizziness of hyperventilation coming quickly and I undressed to prevent any clothing drag resistance. I took a last breath and I dived into our bed. The deepness rose to meet me. It was so white and clear. This was going to be one of my best dives ever. I could just tell. The sheets entered my mouth and flowed into and through me filling my throat, my lungs, my stomach and intestines until we were completely joined together. We travelled deeper though I was nearly at my turn back limit and I could feel every contour of the bedding that we had slept in...... made love in and fought in..... filling me with space that I didn’t even know was there. It was clean and clear and I wanted to stay forever but I needed to reach the surface again for more air before I could go back down. I kicked upwards but I knew it would be a tough swim dragging the extra weight of the wet cotton filling my body. You never know what might see when you’re diving. That’s part of the thrill and this dive was no exception. To my right my mother stood holding a clipboard and drinking gin from a china cup. She was mouthing some words to me. Words maybe about the unsuitability of my boyfriends and how worried she would be. I couldn’t make them out so I waved at her instead and she waved back but her hand was a little twisted and I could tell she was going to be upset with me later on. I kicked harder. I swam straight up then slightly to the left as an aeroplane roared past diving nose first in the opposite direction, to the right and directly down. You always wanted to fly but you were so scared. I couldn’t see any passengers on the plane. Maybe they were all ghosts anyway. I wasn’t going to worry about that now. I looked up. Not far to go. I could see tents. Domed tents. Tents that we had holidayed in, tents that you had fallen on, tents that you hadn’t been able to find in the night. Villages of tents. They made me laugh and I bubbled the last of my air and watched it rise. I knew I was still too deep so I stopped bothering to swim. My body didn’t feel like it needed air anyway and I rolled over and over in the sheets so that when I blacked out and my body rose to the surface it would look as though I was wrapped in a shroud. At least it would look better than drowning in vomit on a dirty floor somewhere. MY death, from latent hypoxia, would be a tragic sporting accident with an interesting and mysterious twist........ and I would be a pretty corpse, wrapped in white, floating in our wedding bed. THE CLUB (the ‘spoken’ words to be in a childs voice) She was a fish, a mermaid, a muscular little eel swimming with a school of dolphins and whales and tuna and terrapins who followed her. She preferred to be under and they would come up for air when they needed, then head back down, eyes wide open in a bright blue blur. She lived in a beautiful water world divided up by thick black lines: “Your bit is this side. My bit is this side and then we can meet on the line for tea”. The lines kept her safe. They kept things ordered and controlled. She could swim along the lines and they would measure out her distance until she needed to breathe. She could mark her territory. She knew where she was: “The first line to the second line is mine and you need to ask if you want to come into my house to play”. She could blow small bubbles at anything approaching her borders as warning. Or she could scream and shout then jump to the surface and splash huge waves before bombing back under kicking and punching. No one crossed the borders without asking. No one disputed her rule. Lesser creatures clung to the edge at her direction: “Hold onto the edge – I wouldn’t want you to drown”. And there they stayed until she was sure she could control their movement. Until they would play HER game. She made up the best games. “Right, to play tea party you have to be very careful to sit cross legged on the bottom in a circle. Then I take the teapot and pour the tea into the cups and pass them round. You sip tea. You DO NOT drink it all down at once and you have to hold your little finger out like this. Like the queen does. Then I open the blood red strawberry jam....... yes terrapin 2 it has to be blood red...... and I spread it on the bread in little triangles and we eat it. Be careful to chew with your mouth closed or its not polite manners”. The dolphins and whales and tuna and terrapins tried their hardest but their mermaid queen was never quite happy and she would swish her hair and swim up and down her boundary lines trying to forgive them. Trying to understand that they were faulted creatures and couldn’t hope to be as perfect as she. That they wouldn’t be able to hold their tea in a truly royal manner or hold their breath long enough to eat in one sitting. They would need to start at the beginning. So she told them, with the kindness that only a true leader would have for their subjects: “We will all sleep on the bottom of the pool. We will pant at the surface first so that we can stay down for longer and then dive. You will lie right down and I will lie next to you. We’ll be floating on the bottom. We’ll pull up the sheets to our necks and close our eyes and get some really good beauty sleep.” And the school of followers did as they were told and she was delighted because now that they had proved that they could listen and obey she could set them more complex tasks and challenges. To show her pleasure she sent them below to roll and tumble and she followed with her hand camera (hands form a square as children do to indicate a camera) and clicked water photos of them. And one small fish gave up and just lay on the bottom for a while because he was still tired but she even clicked at him and didn’t admonish him for his disobedience. A few more sleeps and they were ready at last. This was the moment she had been waiting for. She said she would explain to them on the surface and then she would show them: “First, because it’s so dangerous you need to make an underwater phone call to your mums to tell them you love them. This is important in case anything happens to you. You hold the phone like this and say ‘hello mum, this is what ever fish you are, I am going on a journey and I may not come back for a while but I love you’ and then put the phone down and come up again”. They nodded. They understood the importance. She went on: “Then you need to reveal your true underwater skin so you go down and take off all your other layers until you are just completely cold and pure and your body can stretch and thin out properly”. They looked confused. She dived under and mimed the undressing of a little girl dressed in a thousand layers of jumpers, skirts, trousers, socks, shoes, gloves and hats. She took each item off with such care that they couldn’t misunderstand. “Ahh” they said. Now it was clear. She had thought of everything. She had shown them all that they needed to know. “And finally” she went on “we will swim under and behind the steps that lead down into the pool. We will squeeze through the back in our slippery skins, making our arms stretch out to a thin thread and turning our legs into tails that glide through the gap”. They were incredulous. The steps that were forbidden. The steps that were in the deeper water. The steps that their mothers had told them would trap them and hold them under for far too long. But before they could stop her, before they could beg and implore her to reconsider, she dived. She had already undressed. She had told her mother that she loved her on the underwater telephone. She was already wearing her true cold skin. She was ready. Her followers knew they couldn’t go with her however much they loved their queen. They remembered their mothers’ words. They were too afraid. She was going on her own. She was a fish, a queen of mermaids, a muscular little eel swimming with a school of dolphins and whales and tuna and terrapins who couldn’t follow. Craving the distance she swam over and past the black lines that divided up her beautiful water world, her eyes wide open in a bright blue blur. In the deepness she felt her scaly tail unfurl and, without hesitation, she looked up and headed for the cover of the waiting stairs. It was a tight squeeze into that darkness, a sideways dance... fins pointed downwards ...but she managed somehow until she was trapped... wedged behind where people stepped down into the water. The treads of the stairs gridded her vision. Seven steps from the top of her head to the base of her tail divided her up into smaller components. Into equal scale portions of skin and tail. And what she expected to see was just water but there on each stair..... what she looked at ............was her. She was drowning times seven. At the top was her older with daddy in bed. He was sick and not talking and she’d run out of words so she helped him to join her where she’d run out of air. Then after, one stair lower, was the man she’d become by immersing herself in him until she had lost herself in love completely.. .......and below that the mother she would be once she’d swum to the watery grave of so many other child mermaids like herself and blown out the last bubbles of grief for their tiny lives. She couldn’t help but stare on and down at the ladder step by step and next was her diving in sheets of despair, drowning in grief and bedding for a man she hadn’t met yet, whom she couldn’t even imagine in her childish mind. Her eyes swam lower and she felt the excitement of love but the taste was of bitter sea water as she watched Mediterranean waves wash her body up on a French sea shore. Down further there were modelled pictures of her beautiful drowned face. Frozen forever and printed in books, framed in galleries, hung wherever she looked. Then when she could bear to look no more she finally glanced at the last tread of the stair that led into her pool worrying what she would find. It was the deepest one and she expected something more fearful but there looking back at her was her mermaid face. Royal and haughty and brave. She was the queen of the water. A breather through gills. Drowned and alive in an airless underwater world of behind the stairs. The thought made her smile. Then she remembered the warnings of trappings and drownings, the dangers of being behind the pool stairs......... so...... after a while of waiting...... she manoeuvred herself slowly sideways from out of this forbidden place and swam upwards where she could be seen........ ....so that no one would make the mistake of trying to rescue her.